A Throw in the Dark
by sofasoapsopia
Summary: The first time Vittoria meets him, she's delirious, sleep deprived and had dived into a suspiciously shifting cart of roses without a second thought for it's other inhabitant. For someone who's trained all her life, she just can't seem to get away from him.
**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassins Creed 2 or any of them. Only Vittoria, her story and her family.**

 **Warning: just a little OCC'ness, mostly due to age though. Starts pre-assassins-creed-canon. Or, pre-sequence one.**

 **For curious people, a Federico/OC romance.**

 **Chapter 1**

 _Repubblica Fiorentina, 1471_

Vittoria has never wanted to drop dead so much as she does now.

Her eyes are barely keeping themselves open, making her feel delirious and wonder if this is what being drunk must feel, and she's not quite swaying nor is she stumbling, but she's prepared that if she suddenly starts tripping over her boots and dress that she'll be able to catch herself onto the wall just a foot away from her as she walks the path to her destination.

Despite the widely agreed thought that the sun and it's bright blinding rays are a very good wake-up call, it really isn't. The sun has been baring down on her all morning and instead of startling her into alertness and keeping away sleep, she wants nothing more than to curl up in some random hay bale, flower cart, or bush and sleep the rest of the day. She would have preferred the trimmed green grass of the Palazza Cellini garden, or even better, her bed, but she'd been kicked out first thing in the morning on only a few hours of sleep with the strict instructions to not come home until she had delivered every letter and acquired every message from the multiple contacts her father had listed.

As it stands, the sun is not helping in keeping her awake, it's noon by now and she still has a handful of things to do, and the rather tempting flower cart in front of her is shifting rather suspiciously that she really wants to throw all the papers and documents in her arms up into the air and stomp off somewhere into the city where she can't be bothered or found.

Unfortunately, Vittoria can't afford to do that.

Although...

Her father had never specifically stated that she had to finish her 'chores' within a specific time frame, so just maybe, _maybe_ she could fit in a little nap.

It boils down to whether she thinks he will come storming around Firenze to look for her to find out if she's finished or not.

Vittoria looks around casually, gently places the envelops and little scraps of coded script into a secure pocket that she had sewn into her skirt straight after she bought it, shifting it around expertly so that nothing would crinkle if she happened to roll on top of it, and dives into the cart with the grace of someone with enough experience that the strange act is as perfected as can be from ground level. It's not too hard as she is rather small and the carts could easily fit in a fully grown man, but it still requires a little effort as she's not the only one currently occupying it.

She thinks she hears a yelp, but her minds a bit delirious right now.

Clearly Vittoria isn't right in the head at the moment as the thought of another being in here with her doesn't even bother her. If her father or mother was here right now they'd be lecturing her about the dangers of strangers and how incredibly reckless it is to ignore her instincts when they're just screaming at her to stop. If her brothers were here they'd be calling her a sloth and poke at her a bit, plain and simple. And if it was her maids to see he, well they've already given up on trying to stop her escapades.

But this was if they were here, and they're not, and Vittoria doesn't really care for social or public standards, not now and not even when she's properly coherent. Not to mention that she knows very well how to make what might seem like hinderance very useful. For God sake she's even made a few friends within the ring of courtesans around Firenze, despite, y'know, them being sex workers and probably carrying a few unadvisable diseases.

While Vittoria gently lays herself down on the bottom of the cart, fixing the skirt of her blue dress around her so that just for more safety measures, the envelops won't crinkle, the other being kicks up a fuss and violently scoots away from her. Not that it gets them anywhere, they are in a cart after all. There's only a limited amount of space.

Whoever it is stops shuffling, suddenly freezing in places for the rose leaves around her still, before they whisper quietly, the confusion and incredulousness plain in their deep voice, "Hello?"

Vittoria doesn't know what he looks like but she can see, practically _feel_ the bewildered expression on their face in her soul. She's too tired to hold in a few breathless, tired laughs. "Hello..."

She isn't psychic, but Vittoria bets all of her florins that whoever he was, was wondering what exactly was happening and what they should do. She's more than content to close her eyes and breathe in the fragrance of the flowers.

It's a few minutes later when he seems to come to, relaxing, and asks lamely, "So... what have you been doing to land yourself into my cart?"

She sighs noisily, because she doesn't actually have the patience to deal, and murmurs, " _Your_ cart?" she snorts quietly. "I have been delivering messages all morning, and cannot go home until I am done. And you?" because she's polite, somewhat, she asks him too.

"Running away from my father. I might have hidden a sack of a bank's money on a roof."

Vittoria pauses at the strangers sheepish confession. "Seriously?"

"Yes?"

A sleepy, closed eyed grin stretches across her face. It sounds like something she would have done, just to spite her father for making her do more unnecessary work. "Stupid, why would you hide a sack of money, one from a bank and on a roof of all places?"

"Hey _bella_ , there's no need to call names. But it's funny, don't you think? No one ever checks the rooftops." she swears she can hear him grinning. He's right though. Who in there right mind walk the rooftops where at any moment they could suddenly pummel two or three floors down onto hard stone?

But that's not exactly what catches Vittoria's attention.

" _Bella_? You can't even see me."

"A pretty voice must have a pretty face." his voice sings.

She snorts. "That's quite the logic you have there."

The leaves shift and she thinks that he must have shrugged. "Am I wrong?"

"I don't know, I am not vain enough to answer that."

"Ah, a modest lady?"

Her eyes are still closed, and he probably can't see her either because of the leaves or because he is resting too, but Vittoria still raises her brow. The action is practically instinct. "I have seen only twelve summers, hardly the age of a lady."

"And I fifteen, am _I_ not a lady?"

She scowls and slaps her hand out, blindly. Someone she doesn't hit him and it's not because her eyes are closed. Almost all of her training his done deep into the night, barely a source of light present unless absolute necessary.

"You are not a lady, not even female. What are you talking about? Just shush, I'm trying to sleep." she shifts in the warm leaves, feels the heat of the sun warming up the cart they are in and breathes deeply. It has been getting harder to keep a clear pattern of speech and she's just about ready to fall into sleep.

"Ah, so pushy. But s _i_ , _si_ , there is nothing like sleeping in a cart of leaves."

When Vittoria wakes up, sometime late in the afternoon when the sun is not so much glaring but glowing a beautiful orange, she finds that the cart is empty of but her and the fragrant pink leaves.


End file.
